The Vibrator, the Witch and the Painting
by sylvanawood
Summary: Are there sex toys in the wizarding world? A bushy-haired witch is determined to find out. And what do the paintings have to do with it? SS/HG
1. Chapter 1

**The Vibrator, the Witch and the Portraits or: What Witches Want**

_Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. Just borrowed. Will be returned. Snape is welcome to stay, though._

A big Thank You goes to my beta-reader and brit-picker, Melusin, who transfers my babble into language, sorts my random punctuation and is a good friend. This story was written for an anti-doom-and-gloom challenge by Melusin.

* * *

**The Vibrator, the Witch and the Painting**

**Chapter 1**

Hermione Granger-ex-Weasley liked sex very much. She liked it so much that the lack of its regular occurrence turned out to be the only thing she really missed after she threw Ron Weasley out of the house and got a divorce.

Of course there were the occasional flings. She was an attractive and vivacious woman and had ample opportunities. However, while she indulged on rare occasions, most often she turned the invitations down. She was too well known to trust casual acquaintances; she could never be quite certain if a man's interest was in herself or in the famous war heroine who had helped the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice defeat Tom Riddle. With the men she knew well, she didn't feel at ease, either. She didn't want to be disillusioned or ruin a friendship because of a casual fling. And most men of her acquaintance were married, anyway, with very few exceptions.

Married men were out of the question. Hermione loathed adultery. Besides, she didn't want to mar her reputation––for her children's sake. It was one thing to laugh about Molly Weasley's use of the term 'scarlet woman'; it was another thing entirely to have one's children confused and hurt because their mother was referred to as such. As silly as the term was, she didn't want to subject her children to ridicule.

Muggles were an option, and she wasn't opposed to having a bit of fun with an interesting Muggle man from time to time. This seldom went further than one-night-stands, though. She didn't like to have to constantly keep her real life a secret. And one-night-stands, as exciting and satisfying as they could be, weren't really what she wanted. She wanted someone steady. She wanted emotion, drama and commitment. In other words, she wanted comfort, love and a partner for reliable, regular, satisfying sex.

Alas, a man who met her requirements was nowhere to be found, and thus, most days, there only remained the do-it-yourself solution. Some time almost every day was set aside for herself and her body.

Ever since Hermione had found out that sex could be something she might be interested in, she had read all about it—all she could get her hands on, anyway. Even before Viktor Krum had fondled her budding breasts for the first time, she'd read everything the library of her parents had to offer: _The Joy of Sex, The Hite Reports, The Kama Sutra of Vatsayayana_… Her mother had always been very open with her and freely talked about everything Hermione had wanted to know. One of these studies had mentioned that orgasms were not only relaxing but also helped with insomnia, bad moods, menstrual cramps and strengthened the immune system. From that day on, Hermione's motto had been: '_An orgasm a day keeps trouble at bay_', and she hadn't rested until she had found a technique that worked for her each time she tried. Men were unreliable; her fingers were not.

Unfortunately, Hermione wasn't one of those lucky women who only needed the slightest stimulation to get themselves off; she had to invest a considerable amount of effort. It took some time to get into the right mood—as well as some very enthusiastic stimulation of her genitals. This was time well spent, Hermione found. However, all that strenuous exercise was a bit hard on her wrists. If she couldn't have a man, she wanted a vibrator.

Hermione had been thinking of getting herself a vibrator for quite some time now, but things weren't as easy and straightforward as they seemed. Many years ago, long before she'd married Ron, she had experimented with an electrical toothbrush while visiting her parents and found the experience quite satisfying. A proper vibrator, she thought, would even be better. But, alas––a battery-powered vibrator wouldn't work in areas where magic abounded. Which was just about everywhere in the wizarding world.

Getting a magical vibrator would be the logical conclusion, but there weren't any to be found. Hermione researched, asked around, read––there wasn't anything remotely like a sex industry in the wizarding world she was familiar with, let alone sex toys. At least, they weren't freely available or talked about. People being what they were, Hermione was certain that all kinds of magical devices had to exist that would imitate or exceed their Muggle counterparts. But she didn't know how to find them; she didn't have the connections. They certainly weren't mentioned in the circles where the Weasleys and Potters socialized. Decent people didn't talk about these things, and the Knockturn Alley residents weren't willing to give her any information.

The solution was to invent a magical vibrator from scratch. Hermione imagined a roughly cock-shaped device with in-built gripping, growth and hover-charms and, of course, vibration control. But that was easier said than done. There was no proper vibrating charm. She had tried and applied everything she could think of but without satisfactory results.

There was no such thing as a magical toothbrush. Most witches and wizards simply used a Cleaning Charm on their teeth.

There was no such thing as a mobile phone with a vibrating alarm. The Floo network neither offered inspiration nor did the prospect of having soot and ashes all over the place make any attempt at using the rotational energy of Floo travel even an option.

The egg-whisking charm was too rough, too violent; there was no control, and none of the modifications Hermione tried to introduce into the incantation made things any more predictable. Tarantallegra, the Twitchy Ears Hex and the Jelly Legs Jinx sounded like good basic spells, but they were quite resistant to modifications. The thing they all had in common was the unpredictability of the movement. The twitchings, twirlings and jigglings were too wild, too erratic. Hermione had no intention of trying anything that unreliable on her most sensitive parts. There were more pleasant ways to make herself numb, thank you very much.

Despite these problems, jinxes seemed to be offering the most promising prospects thus far, so maybe, if she focussed on the darker aspects of magic, she'd get some new ideas. She wasn't exactly keen on including Dark Magic in her project; she had been tortured in the war and had seen enough sadistic arousal in Bellatrix Lestrange to last a lifetime. However, the distinction between rather harmless jinxes and really evil and malicious spells wasn't very clear, and the definition of light and Dark magic often seemed to serve the needs of the Ministry or some interest group instead of providing a useful tool for the classification of the spell. There was a strong possibility that she'd find something useful in the so-called Dark Magic texts without having to get into the malicious part of magic too deeply.

Further reading about the detection of evil and Dark magic was supporting her ideas. She came across a technical brochure on Secrecy Sensors: they detected the vibration of evil. And if evil vibrations could be detected, other kinds of vibration could be detected and channelled, too. She'd have to do more research. She needed access to wizarding erotic literature, Dark and light. But how to get hold of it? Some careful planning was required.

* * *

This was the situation as Hermione stood in a corner of the great banqueting hall at the Ministry of Magic, a glass of champagne in one hand, a caviar canapé in the other, and waited for the twenty-first commemoration party of Victory Day to begin. You had to give it to the Ministry; the food was always decent, and Kingsley's speeches were usually rather short and to the point. He'd never managed to develop the amount of pompousness his two predecessors had possessed in such quantities. The evening would be bearable, even though each passing year reminded her of, well, another year passing without having achieved just what she had set out to do so many years ago. Working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had seemed like a good idea at the time, but twenty years of tilting at windmills and fighting Umbridge-esque prejudice could wear a woman down, especially since promotions had all too often bypassed her and been handed out liberally to her more docile, but also more brainless, colleagues.

Hermione shrugged her frustration off. That part of her life had been over for almost a year now. As was her marriage, for rather similar reasons. One day, the day Rose went off on the Hogwarts Express for the first time, she had just had enough. Ron had lied to her once too often. For him, it wasn't a big deal that he winked and laughed about her behind her back, but for Hermione it was a constant undermining of respect and trust. Ron may have loved her in his own way, but he certainly didn't respect her as an equal. She was good old Hermione, always at hand, always the bookworm, always too serious. She was his wife, but that didn't stop him from making fun of her in front of his mates. She had complied quietly at the station, but when they got home that night, she had sent Hugo to bed and thrown Ron out.

Of course there was a row, and there were several months when Molly Weasley hadn't talked to her, but it had all passed, and eventually all of them had admitted that she and Ron were better off as friends. She wasn't concerned about the children at all. They had turned out very well, having inherited their mother's intelligence and their father's light-heartedness. Rose and Hugo were a unique mixture of pigheadedness and an irresistible charm; Hermione was very proud of them. However, at this twenty-first commemoration of the end of VWII, she had to wonder where her own life had gone. Was she happy? Did she still have dreams? Of course she did, and now that she'd finally given up her old ambitions and had left her job at the Ministry, she could follow those dreams and do exactly what she wanted.

_Enough of that. Here comes Kingsley_ she thought, emptied her glass and sat down at the table to listen to the speech.

"Once again we've gathered …_ blahblahbl_ah … remember those who sacrificed … _blahblahblah_ … never let it happen again … _blahyaddablah_ … celebrate life and victory … _yaddayaddayawn_ … especially pleased and excited to present one person to you, who we all believed to be lost … _What? What did he say?_ … delighted to award the Order of Merlin, First Class, to Severus Snape, who has returned to Britain after an absence of twenty-one years."

Deadly silence greeted the Minister's words. Some of the guests shook their heads as if they wanted to clear them. Others gaped; some sat down heavily on the chair next to them. The silence must have lasted at least a minute because the creak of a door being opened was very loud in the room, and when a thin man with greying dark hair, graceful movements and black dress robes started to walk to the podium, all eyes followed him. He took a few steps into the room, and then the racket started.

"WHAT?" Harry shouted. "What are you talking about? That can't be him. He's dead, We saw him die!"

Others had started to talk and ask questions, and Hermione thought her head would burst from all the 'whos' and 'whats'—a constant buzz and hum interspersed with excited and sometimes appalled cries of 'Snape'. _Snape?_ Hermione swallowed. It couldn't be, could it? She had seen the man die, after all. She had seen him bleed to death, giving Harry a set of relevant memories before his movements stilled. And if she remembered correctly, neither of them had moved a finger to help…

In the meantime, the man who had mounted the podium had turned towards Kingsley and taken a small bow.

Harry's tirade stopped, and he stared at the man open-mouthed. It was Severus Snape, twenty-one years older, but undeniably himself. Since Polyjuice Potion didn't work with body parts from dead people, that man couldn't be an impostor. It was either an incredibly good double, or it was really Severus Snape.

"If everyone has quietened down again, I can finally present the medal to Severus. He has won our admiration and respect for the many sacrifices he made during both Voldemort wars, and if anyone has redeemed himself for past mistakes, it is Severus Snape."

Kingsley handed the medal to Snape, who took it with another bow.

"I hope you will join us for the victory celebration, Severus," Kingsley said before declaring the beginning of the feast.

Snape nodded. "With pleasure." He let his gaze sweep over the room, lingering briefly on Harry, Ron, Ginny, and then on Hermione.

_Oh, my,_ Hermione thought. _This is going to be an interesting evening, after all._

* * *

Hermione slowly approached the crowd that had gathered around Snape. "How did you survive? Where have you been?" were the questions being asked most often.

"Lucius Malfoy came looking for me in the Shrieking Shack, found me still alive, rescued me and helped me until I recovered from my injuries. Then I left the country. I didn't feel that I would be welcome in post-war Britain, although I had Minister Shacklebolt's full pardon. There were too many people who wanted to see me in Azkaban—or dead, and since I was finally free to go wherever I wanted, I travelled, studied Potions and Alchemy and wrote books. "

Merlin, his voice was still as dangerously silky and smooth as it had been while he was their teacher, Hermione thought. But now the threat, the menace, was missing and what remained was its seductive quality. She was intrigued.

"Is there anything I can do to help you, Mr. Snape?" Harry asked. Having dragged Ginny over to Snape, he was now beaming at him with his typical stubborn enthusiasm.

"You want to help me, Potter? Why?" Snape asked with a searching glance.

"I owe you so much, and you worked so hard. And you loved my mum (Snape rolled his eyes—how interesting)—and I feel bad for not respecting you in the past. Ask anything of me, Mr. Snape."

"I see that things haven't changed. Your decisions are still as, ah, spontaneous as they always were, Potter," Snape purred. The hairs on Hermione's neck rose. This needed to be watched. "In fact, Mr. Potter, there is indeed something you can do for me…"

"What is it? Just name it. I'll do anything in my power. And so will Ron and Hermione, I'm sure."

Snape's lips twitched, and his eyes glittered. "Very well. I have bought Foxglove Cottage, the former home of the Mulciber family. The house had been up for sale for years, but no one wanted it. It is rumoured to be haunted and cursed, which is, of course, rubbish. The Mulcibers left no heirs. Foxglove Cottage is much larger than my old house. I have discovered many of the secret chambers and hidden traps but not all of them. If you could help me by breaking the curses, it'd be inhabitable much faster— " He paused and glanced at Hermione. "There's also a large library that needs to be catalogued and cleared out. Some help with that would also be greatly appreciated."

Hermione nodded. "I can help with that. I owe you, too. But it will have to wait until September—when my children are back at Hogwarts."

Snape frowned but agreed.

"Oh, but that's perfect." Harry beamed. "I'll help you in the meantime to get rid of the evil left-over curses. Should be a piece of cake, shouldn't it?"

Snape looked dubious. "Don't underestimate the ingenuity of magical architects. It will be hard work."

"That's settled, then. Perfect." Harry beamed again, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "You won't regret it, Mr… Can't I call you Severus? And you call me Harry? After what with my mum…"

"I don't think I can stop you, Potter." Some kind of emotion flickered over Snape's face, but Hermione wasn't certain what it was. With any other person, she'd have sworn that it was resignation.

Ron had kept out of it, but now he approached Snape and awkwardly stuck out his hand, which was accepted and shaken. "If you need anything from our shop, anything… you'll get it. We've developed the patented daydream charm further; they now almost work like the Muggle cinema—if you want a good selection of those, just say the word. Sorry I can't help with the house—can't stay away from the shop for long, you understand?"

Snape looked at him critically, flicked a brief glance at Hermione and nodded. "Thank you, Weasley. If I ever have need of your, ah, products, I shall let you know."

Grinning self-importantly, Ron went away.

* * *

When Hermione got home, she kicked off her shoes and shrugged out of her dress robes, not caring where they fell. The children were at Hogwarts; no one else was in the house. Sighing contentedly, she filled the bathtub, added some scented salts with her favourite fragrance and lighted a few candles. While in the tub, she started to play with her breasts and to softly pinch and tweak her nipples. Eyes closed, she focussed on her body, enjoying how the hot water relaxed her tense and tired muscles.

After drying off, she carefully applied body lotion, stroking and teasing herself while she did so. Her breasts received extra care. Feeling pampered and sexy, she poured herself a glass of wine, lit the candles in her bedroom and lay down. A flick of her wand, and a disembodied voice started to read certain marked parts in a Muggle erotic novel. Smiling to herself, Hermione continued with her self-pleasuring routine. She listened to the exciting paragraphs in the novel and felt her own arousal rise from imagining to having an active part in the fictional couple's activities. Her hands knew exactly what to do—fingers flying, tweaking, pinching and rubbing just _so_. Hermione started to breathe heavily, heat rising up from her groin and spreading out all over her body. No stopping now, no distractions, she thought and kept going, faster and faster. The voice in the background faded away—only what was going on in her mind counted now. A few shifts of her body, and parts of her started to tremble. This was the time when things felt so incredibly good. Almost there, but not quite. Her wrist was getting tired, but she kept going. Almost, almost… She focussed on the image of the couple in the novel, who were indulging in some light bondage, but instead, the image of Severus Snape appeared in her mind, eyes gleaming dangerously, lips curled in a half-smile. Hell, since when did he have such sensitive lips? She wondered what he looked like naked, and if that nose fitted other parts of his anatomy, and how it'd feel when… and with a loud, shuddering sigh she came, long and good.

Of course, it was lonely and a bit frustrating afterwards. And getting your G-spot stimulated was difficult that way. But it was a lot better than no sex at all, or the frustration of being with a selfish lover, thank you very much. Hermione sighed contentedly, pushed Snape firmly out of her mind, rolled over and fell asleep.

* * *

"Ginny! Where's Harry?"

When Hermione took her children to King's Cross on the first of September, she'd expected to meet the Potters, Weasleys and Ron on Platform nine and three-quarters as she did every year. Seeing Ginny alone with her children was unexpected.

"Oh–– Hi, Hermione. He's at St. Mungo's, but don't worry, he'll be fine."

"What happened? An accident at work?" Telling her not to worry usually rang Hermione's alarm bells.

"No, no, nothing like that. Do you remember him promising Snape to help get his new house curse-broken?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well, that wasn't as easy as it seemed, at first. Those old builders were quite cunning. On his first day there, Harry got sucked into a reverse trap-door, and Snape only found him hours later in the chimney. He had to fly up there to untie Harry."

"What?"

"Yes, quite tricky, that house. But Harry wasn't seriously injured; he only had a few scratches. You can't expect to remain unharmed when you hang upside down in the chimney, tied to your ankles, like a sausage or ham about to be cured, can you? Good thing there wasn't a fire in the hearth, though."

"Good grief. And then?"

"Snape apologized profusely. He thought he'd found and deactivated all the reverse trap-doors."

"Hmmm… and had he?"

"He thought so at the time. Snape hasn't remained uninjured, either. He said that he was welcomed by a shower of poisoned arrows as soon as he opened the door for the first time. Only after the contract of sale was signed did the house accept him as its master, and only then could he start looking for traps and deactivate them."

"And Harry is his guinea pig?"

"Harry offered to help. He's an experienced Auror, after all." Ginny looked taken aback. Obviously, she took Hermione's questions as criticism of Harry's competence.

"I know that, but…"

"Never mind," Ginny continued. "What no one suspected was the giant octopus in the pipes. It almost succeeded in dragging Harry down the toilet… but Snape heard him scream and managed to stop the beast. It's been taken to Gringotts, now—the Goblins find it a very useful creature, and they paid a good price."

"And Harry?"

"Oh, he only had a few bruises. Good thing, too, that his midriff has spread out a bit over the years, otherwise it would have been easier for the octopus to drag him down. Snape was worse off; he got his nose broken when he wrestled with the monster, but Harry was able to heal him right away."

"I see. So how…?"

"Just let me finish, will you?" Ginny glared at her impatiently. "The portrait, which looked like an ordinary glass door but led into a snake pit, was relatively harmless. The snakes had starved to death years ago, and all that was left of them was their skeletons. And a few broken bones from a fall have never been able to stop Harry."

Hermione swallowed. "Right. Go on."

Ginny nodded. "What was really bad was when that tapestry unravelled and tried to strangle Harry. He had only touched it briefly with his wand to check for hidden doors when it attacked him. Quite a powerful anti-theft spell, I'd say. Harry was unconscious for three days."

"But that's horrible!"

"Yes. And in the meantime, Snape had almost been squashed by a room with moving walls. They moved closer and closer towards each other; he barely managed to stop them before he was flattened."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am… Anyway, after Harry went back there, a few new trap-doors appeared, and Snape and Harry suspected that the house had some means of communication—from the entrance door to the traps, from room to room; something they hadn't discovered yet.

"Eventually, they figured out that the carvings on the doors and railings and the ornaments on the ceilings were connected to each other and passing on messages. The carvings consisted of Gargoyles, Sphinxes, Chimaeras and the like—all creatures that can talk. Snape has now stripped the house bare of all the carvings and decorations, but this came too late for Harry."

"How so?"

Harry was caught by another trap—a door with a handle that contained an in-built Portus spell, activated by the carved creatures at will. He was transported to a room where all the surfaces got hot and hotter."

"Well, that sounds familiar."

"That's what Harry said, too. In fact, I think the Goblins were involved in building that house… Anyway, Harry had third-degree burns; no flame-repellent charm helped him in there. Snape eventually found him, and now Harry's in St. Mungo's. But don't worry, he'll be fine."

Hermione frowned. "You know, you're being surprisingly nonchalant about this, Ginny. Are you sure that this wasn't set up by Snape as revenge or something? He never liked Harry…"

Ginny laughed disdainfully. "Rubbish! Don't be silly, Hermione. Snape came to our house before Harry went to help him, and he asked for my forgiveness for what he had to do as Headmaster all those years ago. Can you imagine?"

"Really?" Hermione asked, unconvinced.

"Yes, really. And I forgave him, of course. As did Neville—and Luna and everybody else to whom Snape went to apologize. We'd realized a long time ago that he'd tried to protect us, anyway." Ginny looked slyly at Hermione. "You know, back then, I never noticed how charming he could be."

"Charming? Snape? Have you lost your mind?" Hermione couldn't believe it.

"Yes, charming. And without the permanent scowl and sneer, he looks quite handsome, too. He has a certain… something. Well, you'll see for yourself when you go and help him with the library. You are going tomorrow, aren't you?"

Hermione stared at Ginny unbelievingly. "Yes, I'm going there tomorrow. But I still say that you've lost your mind…"

Ginny merely grinned, and after they'd waved good-bye to their children, they parted.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione stood in front of Foxglove Cottage and looked around. The door in front of her was old but freshly painted and decorated with tasteful floral carvings. The pewter knocker in the shape of a foxglove bell looked new.

Hermione knocked but nothing happened. She knocked again and became aware of a pleasant lemony scent. Looking up, she noticed two rows of tiny, sharp teeth staring her in the face.

_Thud!_ Before Hermione could figure out to whom those teeth belonged, they had been whacked away. Attached to the teeth was a fanged geranium—now snapping at a giggling fairy, which held a large wooden club in its tiny hands and was threatening the plant with it.

"Blimey!" Hermione cursed. The humming and buzzing she had thought was coming from the bees and other insects was being made by fairies, who were holding a large cluster of beautifully blooming fanged geraniums in check. An unorthodox way to guard the landlord from his houseplants, she thought. But she had to admit that the geraniums did add a touch of colour and a welcoming look to the house.

Hoping that she wouldn't meet a Venomous Tentacula next, Hermione knocked again. After a short while, she heard swift footsteps, and the door was thrown open.

"Mrs. Weasley. Do come in."

"It's Granger. Good morning, Mr. Snape."

Snape smiled. _Snape smiled?_ "Perhaps it would be prudent to call each other by our first names. We will be working together here for some time, after all. Your friend Potter insisted on being informal, so you might just as well call me Severus."

"If you wish," Hermione said, astonishment written all over her face, which caused Snape to smirk in that oddly attractive way. _Attractive? Dammit, get a grip, girl._ "By all means, call me Hermione, then. We wouldn't want to cause distress to Harry, now, would we?"

Snape's eyes widened, and he could barely suppress a snort. "Far be it for me to cause further distress. Do come in, Hermione. Can I offer you a cup of tea or coffee before we start?"

"Tea would be nice." Hermione studied her surroundings. The entrance hall was decorated in the same floral design as the main door; there were foxgloves, monkshood, flowering mandrakes and other magical and medicinal herbs and plants in the carvings and stitched on the fabric of the curtains. There was a mirror, a coat stand and a chest of drawers, all in a clear and simple design and of good quality.

"This is very nice," Hermione commented. "After all I've heard about the traps here, I expected a bit more of a construction site, actually."

"Oh, you heard about your friend's mishaps—and my own, for that matter?" His smile was a bit skewed. You could almost call it sheepish—if you wanted to be that frivolous in Snape's presence.

Hermione nodded.

"Well, I had all the decorations removed and employed a Muggle interior designer to get the house back into shape. I managed to salvage some of the antique furniture, but everything dangerous has been removed." While he explained, Snape led her to the lounge and offered her a seat. After sitting down himself, he tapped the coffee table briefly, and a teapot with all the necessary tea things neatly arranged on a tray appeared. Hermione stared at the tray with a frown.

"I hired a free elf to do the cooking and cleaning. I prefer to spend my time on more interesting occupations. The rates are reasonable, and the new house-elf employment contract is ingenious. I was told that it is a fruit of your own work, together with the status-of-being reforms?"

There was that smile again. Hermione was charmed despite her better judgement. Snape couldn't possibly be so pleasant. This simply didn't fit into her mental image of the stern and nasty ex-teacher to whom they all owed so much. She'd expected a vengeful, bitter and angry man, full of biting sarcasm, but not the socially competent man sitting opposite her. His demeanour was friendly, his manners impeccable, the smile intriguing and the voice… Unbidden, the feelings and images of her self-pleasuring session after the ball arose in Hermione's mind. She felt the heat rise in her face and put those thoughts far back into the realm of fantasy, where they belonged. She cleared her throat and looked at Snape through narrowed eyes. She wasn't that gullible; she would reserve judgement until she knew more about his plans and motivation.

"Yes, that was my doing, mostly. That is one of the few things I remember fondly from my time at the Ministry."

"Why did you leave, if I may ask?" Snape inquired while he poured her another cup of tea.

"I… didn't feel appreciated. You may remember that I never was able to hold my tongue for very long…"

He raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. "Indeed."

Hermione smirked and nodded. "That hasn't changed. I still speak up when I feel that something needs to be addressed, and… er… diplomacy was never really my thing. I'm not a very good liar."

"And so others wheedled themselves into the favour of your superiors, presented your ideas as their own and got promoted while you were… considered eccentric but useful?" Snape nodded when he saw Hermione's astonished look. "I know how the Ministry works."

"You're right," Hermione sighed. "I was less than happy with that situation. I wanted to change things, but constantly got tied down by ridiculous regulations and asinine administrative actions. Filling out forms correctly was more important that what was being proposed in those forms…"

"So that's why you left?"

"Not quite. After my divorce, I had more time to focus on my private interests, and in the course of that, I invented something that earned me so much money––and still does––that I was able to resign last year, live comfortably and focus on interesting projects without having to circumvent this or that uppity administrator all the time.

"What did you invent?"

Snape had ordered another pot of tea, which came with chocolate digestives. Hermione watched in stunned fascination at how he devotedly licked the chocolate off the side, completely oblivious to the sensuous display he was offering. She swallowed a few times and forced herself to look away.

"Uh… it's a charm box, which reads out loud from whatever is put into it: books, letters, documents, you name it. It can easily be connected to Extendable Ears; you know, the kind that Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes sell? Together with a dictoquill, it's a very useful device for any business."

"Indeed!" Was that respect in Snape's eyes? At least she had his full attention now. The biscuits were forgotten.

"The whole thing was based on the charms for the Wizarding Wireless, and thus it was only a small step to invent a modified, very small wireless that can be connected to Extendable Ears. It's something teenagers are absolutely wild about. It sells like crazy. I developed it together with George, and it keeps me financially independent. It's like a Muggle Walkman. We call it 'W-Pod'. Everyone wants one: Fleur, Bill's wife, gave one to Mrs. Weasley last Christmas."

"I've heard about them," Snape said silkily, but not quite able to suppress the awe in his voice. "They are popular, indeed. Amazing. I never took you for an inventor, more for a… ah––I'm surprised that you agreed to help me with my library."

"You still think that I'm full of book learning and nothing more." Hermione's smile was forced. "Looks like we both might have to adjust our mutual prejudice a bit."

"Perhaps," he answered smoothly. "But cataloguing my library is still a waste of your talents. You should be out and about inventing…"

"Oh, but I do want to help." Hermione was flattered; she couldn't help herself. Snape, who had never found anything she did remarkable while she was his student, now was actually praising her. What had the world come to?

"And I do have selfish motives, too. I'd like to get a good look at your books. You've no idea how difficult it is for a goody-two-shoes like me to get any information about the more, ah, illegal kind. No one at Knockturn Alley speaks to me. Ever. And I need some information on the theory of curses and hexes. Mind you, nothing really Dark," she added hastily when she saw his frown. "Just something a bit beyond the harmless hexes and jinxes you see in the standard spell books."

"I suppose you know what you are doing, Ms… Hermione. But be careful. Many of the books in my library are very dangerous. The Mulcibers were known for their well-stocked library. Ah… I'd be honoured to be of assistance, if you don't mind."

"I'll gladly accept that offer, Severus," she said. "But hadn't we better get to work, now?"

"Some things never change." He smirked while he stood up, and Hermione could literally hear him thinking '_bossy as ever_.' Only then did she realize that she had told him a lot about herself and had learned nothing new about him. Sly bastard.

* * *

The work in the library turned out to be rather pleasant. Hermione had come every day for three weeks now, and together with Snape, she had managed to banish horrible hexes, deactivate dangerous dust jackets and Evanesco the most evil tomes, as well as cataloguing the useful ones. The work was progressing nicely shelf by shelf, but Hermione had not found anything helpful for her vibrator project as yet.

In all this time, Snape had kept up his relaxed demeanour. He neither sneered nor mocked. He didn't get angry; he was calm, composed and polite. Sometimes, he was even charming but always in a calm, impersonal way. He didn't talk much and only looked at her briefly when she addressed him or when he showed her something. And that was more or less what Hermione had expected after her first visit to his house. She was very much aware that, despite his pleasant behaviour, he didn't––couldn't––really like her, which was a pity, she thought, because the new and improved Severus Snape had turned out to be a rather intriguing character and was on her mind a lot more than she cared to admit.

What Hermione didn't expect were the many visits from young and middle-aged unmarried witches, who offered help, food, company and advice to the poor and lonely man. They were summarily deposited in the lounge where they were fed with tea and biscuits, treated briefly to Snape's company and then politely dismissed, never to be seen again for the most part. Some of the more tenacious kind, however, wouldn't take the hint and returned repeatedly, insisting on dragging the poor man out of the house and into some social activity with them as their partner. He usually resisted, but those were the days when he resembled his old self the most, always having a sneer on his face and a sarcastic remark on his lips after those visits.

Hermione wondered why he was so popular all of a sudden. Certainly, being one of the greatest heroes of his generation, and one who was thought to be lost, had an irresistible appeal in itself. His mysterious life away from Britain during all those years added to the enigma. And then there was his past––his love for Harry Potter's mother. Hermione had heard the story from Harry, as almost everyone else in the wizarding world had, but she never thought that he'd still be pining over a dead woman after all these years. At least, she hoped not––but it was really none of her business, was it? It did add to his mystery, though, and Hermione could well imagine how overly romantic witches––and on occasion, wizards––would idealize that youthful attachment and fantasize about Snape as the dark and brooding romantic hero of Victorian novels who needed to be rescued and shown the power of true love.

She did fantasize a bit herself, to be honest. Snape was a challenge; she wanted to find out more about him––and she enjoyed his company. However, he stayed aloof, and Hermione didn't want to ruin their amiable working relationship by asking unwelcome, personal questions.

* * *

This went on for two months. By early November, they had catalogued about half of the library, and Hermione had found several interesting books on hexes and jinxes.

She was sitting in the library, reading one of these books, while he was entertaining yet another of the hopeful witches. It was late, and she was only waiting for him to come back so she could call it a day and go home. She leaned back and yawned so deeply that her jaw creaked.

"Why don't you just get a few personal things and stay overnight?" Snape asked from the door. Apparently, another disillusioned would-be bride had left the house. "The house is large enough, if you fear for your reputation."

"I do as I please, within limits, so I have no worries about my reputation," Hermione said. "Thank you for the offer, and it would indeed be quite convenient. As tired as I often am after all the curse breaking, Apparition is a bit of a stretch, and Floo travel gives me nausea. I'll gladly accept."

"Good," Snape said. "Spunky will show you to a guest-room and help you with all the essentials. Why don't you stay right away and get your things tomorrow? I 'm certain Spunky can come up with everything you need for one night."

"Yes, I could do that," Hermione said with a yawn. "That means we can finish this shelf here and then go to bed."

Half an hour later, after drinking a glass of wine in Snape's company, Hermione followed Spunky the house-elf to the guest room. It was a nice room with a huge antique bed and a comfortable rocking-chair by a large window. There was a small secretaire, a chair and a chest of drawers. A wardrobe and a small bathroom completed the suite.

When she'd finished her evening routine, Hermione fell onto the bed exhaustedly. She soon fell asleep and drifted right into a lively dream. She dreamt that she was sinking into the mattress, deeper and deeper, until nothing of her could be seen from the outside. Underneath the mattress, the floor opened, and she fell into the opening, sliding downwards on a long and winding slide through a dark tunnel. With a 'plop', she finally landed on another bed. Staring up, she saw the hole in the ceiling slowly close.

_This is the weirdest dream_, Hermione thought. She sat up on the bed and looked around. That room was just as comfortable as the other one and had similar furniture and facilities, except that there were several strange contraptions on top of the chest of drawers. Hermione felt her curiosity challenged—she'd call it scientific zeal—and walked over to take a closer look at the contraptions.

There were two pairs of handcuffs, lined with velvet. There were several rings and clamps, a leather whip, a blindfold, and something longish, shaped like a cock. She took it in her hand; it felt remarkably good. Smooth and warm, almost like real skin. A soft squeeze, and the thing began vibrating.

_I'll be damned_, Hermione thought. _Here's my vibrator_.

The temptation to try it out right there and then was very strong, but Hermione resisted. If she looked closely enough, maybe she'd find out which charms were used to enchant the thing.

A few simple analytical spells later––it wasn't easy to do these wandless––Hermione had an idea how to proceed with her own vibrator project. She was keen to put her plans into practice, but most likely she would forget everything once she woke up. If only she could write it down somewhere and hope that her wakeful counterpart would remember where she stored that particular memory in her mind. Worth a try, anyway. Perhaps the books would do?

A closer look at the books revealed them to be guides to sex magic. They were a bit disappointing because the rituals and recommended positions were rather conservative and generally thought to aid conception more than the mutual gratification of the partners, but she leafed through them anyway. There wasn't much in there that she didn't know. She was just looking around for an imaginary quill to write her ideas on the flyleaf of one of the books when she heard a hammering at the door.

"Hermione, are you in there? Answer me."

"Severus?" Hermione pinched herself. She was in a dream, right? Why was Snape here? She wasn't really all that attracted to him for him to appear in her dreams—or was she?

"Yes, it's me. I'm terribly sorry about this. I don't have a key for this door, but Spunky and I will have you out of there in just a minute."

Damn. She would have to remember the vibrator charms as best as she could after waking up. Just in case, she pocketed the vibrator in her nightgown—a very nice one, made from spider silk. The house-elf had produced it; she had no idea from where.

A few moments later, the door was blasted out of its hinges, and two confused and worried faces were staring at her through the settling dust. "Hermione, are you all right?"

"Don't worry. We're just in a dream," Hermione said distractedly, still looking for a quill. "I need to write something down, though."

"This is not a dream, you silly woman," Snape snapped. "I thought we had lost you. Spunky was about to bring you some more candles when she saw you disappear through your mattress. Before she could wake me, though, I was roused by a loud screech in my head—something no one else would hear, I suppose. That bed up in your chambers appears to be a trap Potter and I overlooked––for obvious reasons. It's one of those beds that recognizes when a single woman who isn't the master's wife sleeps in it. That woman is then considered prey for the man of the house and transported into this pleasure room to await the eager attentions of her host."

"And the lady is never asked?" Hermione sneered. "How charming."

"I apologize for the behaviour of my house. Please believe that I did not plan to seduce you in such a crude manner––" His face flushed beet-red. "I mean, I didn't…" he stuttered.

_Interesting choice of words,_ Hermione thought. "No, I suppose that wouldn't be your style," she said loudly and grinned. The grin froze on her face, though, when she saw Snape's eyes sweep over her figure. The silk was very thin… Now it was her turn to blush, and her damned nipples had nothing better to do than stand to attention right now—from the cold. Of course it was from the cold. She shivered and crossed her arms.

"I apologize again, Hermione." Snape took off his own dressing gown and wrapped Hermione in it. It was nice and warm and smelled good. Hermione hadn't been enveloped by the warmth and smell of a man for some time. Maybe that was why her mind was constantly in the gutter that night, but she couldn't help noticing the attractive figure Snape made in his own grey nightshirt. She'd always considered men in nightshirts old-fashioned and ridiculous, but Snape… She had never noticed that he had such wide shoulders… and the legs were very nice, too. They were long, slender, with strong, wiry muscles, but there was nothing bulging or out of proportion. It made her curious about what the rest of him looked like.

"Spunky will have another room ready for you in a minute—one that doesn't contain any antique furniture," Snape said while he led her to the door. "It's all new and Muggle-made. Let's go to the library and wait…" but Spunky had already returned, ready to lead Hermione to her new room.

This time, Hermione found the bed to be solid and comfortable. Sleep eluded her, however. After turning and tossing from side to side a few times, she took the vibrator out of her pocket, cast a cleansing spell over it and tried it out. It was absolutely quiet, no obnoxious buzzing. Different degrees of squeezing produced different strengths of vibration. She tried a low level and thoroughly stimulated the area around her clit, but never stimulated it directly for fear of getting numb. The sensation was very nice, and it didn't take long for her at all to get completely lost in her fantasies, sweating and gasping. A fleeting thought of adding voice control to her own model-to-be distracted her briefly, and then it was there, the anticipated moment. Unbidden, Snape's image appeared in her mind once again and, with a shivering sigh, she came.

_Easy on the wrist,_ Hermione thought when she was able to think again, but she refused to ponder over the regular appearance of Snape's image in her erotic fantasies. A moment later, she was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. Just borrowed. Will be returned. Snape is welcome to stay, though._

A big Thank You goes to my beta-reader and brit-picker, Melusin, who transfers my babble into language, sorts my random punctuation and is a good friend. This story was written for an anti-doom-and-gloom challenge by Melusin.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Severus Snape liked sex very much. He liked it so much that the lack of its regular occurrence turned out to be the only thing he really missed after his return to Britain.

Of course there were occasional flings. He had been away long enough to be considered a catch by some women, but while he indulged on rare occasions, most often he turned the invitations down. He was still too well known to trust his casual acquaintances and never was quite certain if the women were interested in him or in the famous war hero.

Outside the UK, he'd had no problems finding interested women; on the contrary, he was usually considered a fascinating man and had been rather popular. But back in his own country, he suffered the fate of the proverbial prophet and had all the baggage of the past loaded upon him once again. Even more than twenty years after the end of the war, people remembered the unpleasant teacher, the ex-Death Eater. "Greasy Git" was still whispered behind his back.

This changed after he got his Order of Merlin, but the women chasing him now weren't exactly the kind who attracted his fancy. Most of them had heard about his youthful attachment to Harry Potter's mother––Potter had made certain that everybody and their dog knew about it––and these women now wanted to console the heartbroken man they imagined him to be and to teach him the meaning of true love––with themselves as the focus of attention, of course. Needless to say, they held no attraction for him whatsoever, and he avoided them like the plague.

Some wives of his 'old friends' showed a bit too much interest in him on occasion, but Severus loathed adultery.

Muggles were an option, and he wasn't opposed to having a bit of fun with an interesting Muggle woman from time to time, but these seldom went further than one-night stands. For a relationship, he would have had to keep his magical life a secret, and he was tired of keeping secrets. He'd had enough of those to last the rest of his life. What he wanted was someone steady, even if this meant emotion, drama and commitment. It also meant comfort, emotional stability and regular, reliable, satisfying sex.

Alas, a woman who met all his requirements was nowhere to be found and thus, more often than not, he had to resort to the good old do-it-yourself method.

This was the situation when Hermione Granger invaded his library and his life. It was out of a sense of bad conscience and guilt, he supposed. Potter, Weasley and Granger had demonstrated that typical expression of suppressed guilt when they had finally acknowledged his continuous existence at the commemoration ball. They had left him to die twenty years ago and had done nothing to help him. Now they were being painfully reminded of their lack of compassion–– even if it was only by their own guilty consciences.

Severus could have relieved them of their guilt if one of them had considered talking to him about it. As surprising as that might have been to others and even himself, he held no grudge against them. He knew how young and scared they had been at that time, burdened with tasks far too heavy for their years. Besides, they had taken him for the right-hand man of Voldemort, the man who had murdered their beloved Dumbledore, and they would rightfully have been relieved that he could pose no danger to them any longer. Severus understood all this and had forgiven them a long time ago.

However, instead of talking, and perhaps, apologizing, the dream team had forced themselves upon him with the firm resolve to help and make amends. Well, Potter and Granger had, in any case. Weasley had wriggled out of it with lame excuses. No surprises there.

And so Severus had spent the best part of two months watching out for Potter, who'd activated one trap after another in his over enthusiasm. At least the curse-finding and breaking had been a lot quicker that way than if he'd had to do it all by himself. Neither of them had been seriously injured; no lasting harm had been done.

Severus had offered his own apologies to those who deserved them, and to his surprise, they had been gracefully accepted. The children from his past had grown up, and just as he understood the trio's motives, those young people understood, after learning about his true role, why he had been forced to act the way he had, and that he'd actually done everything in his power to protect them during his fateful tenure as headmaster.

The forgiveness he was granted gave him the closure he needed, and when he had finished his rounds with a nervous, yet gracious, Neville Longbottom, Severus had felt that he was now ready to start a new life, perhaps even with friends and acquaintances who would treat him like a human being. A normal life was something he had always wanted; it just seemed to have been out of his reach all the time. Maybe now, in his later years, he could finally achieve it. And perhaps he could even find a woman to share this life with him.

* * *

The woman who had caught his fancy was now sitting at the desk in his library and sulking. She didn't know about his feelings, wouldn't for some time––and maybe never––but he was certain that she was exactly what he wanted.

Hermione Granger, the mature woman, was quite different from the girl he had known during the war years. She was still stubborn, bossy and a know-it-all, but those attributes were tempered and refined by experience, a solid knowledge and the ability to admit that she was wrong on occasion. Hermione had a fine, dry sense of humour, quick wit, and just the right amount of self-irony. It was exactly his kind of humour; it delighted him no end––and turned him on considerably.

She wasn't bad to look at, either. Her wild hair was still the same; that was an aspect of her he had always liked. Wild, unmanageable hair was invariably a sign of strong natural magic in magical folk. His nemesis, James Potter, had had it. Potter's son was cursed with the same untameable cowlick, and Severus himself had never managed to get his hair to behave and not hang about his face like a wet dishrag. Hermione also had the magical hair; it virtually crackled when she was excited and stood on end when she was angry. He was glad that she still wore it long; it suited her personality.

The rest of her was quite attractive, too. Her warmth and the scent of her, together with a good view of a very nice cleavage, were tantalizing and frequently offered when she bent towards him to show him something in a book. Her arse begged to be touched, stretching the fabric of her practical jeans in the most intriguing ways. He barely could keep his eyes away when she stooped to retrieve a book from a lower shelf.

The sight of her in that thin, silk nightgown the first night she had stayed at his house, though, did him in completely. She didn't seem aware of it, but her breasts had been clearly visible through the fabric. Very pretty breasts they were, too, with lovely, pert nipples. He'd had to fight the impulse to pounce on her right there and then––and scare her away. All he'd been able to do to get his wits back had been to offer her his own dressing gown in order to get those nipples covered up before he made a complete fool of himself. Thankfully, his own nightshirt was cut wide and comfortable—too wide to show off any traitorous tents or bulges. That same night, he had resolved to get her into his bed—preferably into his life and into his bed, but into his bed in any case.

* * *

Right now, that prospect didn't seem very likely. Hermione had come to his house in a right snit after having spent the weekend in her own home. It had become her habit to spend the week working with him on the library and to spend the weekend at home with her extended family and friends.

"Is something wrong?" he finally asked when her brooding had continued for an hour, and his curiosity got the better of him.

She looked up, surprise and annoyance written all over her features. Conflicting emotions were warring briefly in her face, and finally she shrugged and sighed. "I may as well tell you the whole story; you'll learn about it, anyway." She took a magazine out of her handbag and threw it on the table in front of him, glowering again.

Severus took the magazine and looked at it. It was _Witch Weekly_. "You don't expect me to read this…"

"Look at the title and the articles advertised there."

Severus scanned the title page with its coquettish picture of a recent debutante of wizarding high society and some more or less grammatically correct catchphrases.

"'Perenella Fudge spills the beans––how Cornelius liked the divorce settlement'," Severus read out loud and frowned. "'Celestina Warbeck live in London'." He looked up questioningly, but Hermione merely gestured impatiently.

"Go on."

"'War hero finds new love after divorce'." Another questioning look.

Hermione nodded and glared.

"'Why a true witch is better in bed––Lavender Brown tells all (p. 14)'."

Hermione was now almost foaming at the mouth. "Go on. Go to page fourteen. Read it."

His eyebrows rose up, and he opened the magazine at the required page. It was an interview with Lavender Brown waxing lyrical about her happiness as the new fiancée of war hero, Ronald Weasley.

"'I'm not laying any blame, but as a witch from an old family, I know what's right and proper and what a true wizard needs,' Lavender admitted with a becoming blush, and continued, 'We have our traditions, and Muggleborns, as well-adjusted and magically powerful as they may be, simply cannot know about this aspect of wizarding life. Ron has come back to life since he's been with me. I give him exactly what he needs and make him happy.' Special correspondent, Rita Skeeter, asked about Weasley's former wife, the infamous Hermione Granger, whose conquests among famous and infamous wizards alike have been legendary ever since she passed puberty, but Lavender refused to go into details. It is our understanding as experienced journalists, however, that certain witches don't need to fake it while others may confuse quantity for quality…" Severus put the magazine down and stared wide-eyed at Hermione. Her hair was standing on end.

"That… that… that insufferable old harridan… If she thinks she can get away with this… If HE thinks––if THEY think they can get away with this…" Her eyes narrowed as she stared into space. "Just you wait," she hissed at no one in particular. "Just you wait…"

Severus didn't envy Weasley and his new fiancée at all, nor did he feel sympathetic towards Rita Skeeter. Remembering Hermione's methods of dishing out justice, he knew that they were in for some surprises.

"Don't… don't do anything too harmful…" he tried to caution her.

Her head snapped towards him, and her eyes refocused. She let out a coarse cackle. "Don't worry. I have, ah, adjusted my methods over the years." She studied him, a sly smirk spreading over her features. "As you know only too well, the satisfaction of revenge is much greater if you play strictly by the rules. The moral high ground has great strategic value."

Now it was Severus' turn to guffaw. "Indeed. So what are you going to do?"

She was still staring at him with that smirk, but slowly her expression moved from angry to thoughtful and calculating.

"I won't have to do much at all. Molly will take care of most of it. She'll give Lavender a tongue-lashing that'll make her wish she'd never been born. Thank Merlin for small favours that this drivel wasn't published in the _Daily Prophet_."

Severus nodded. _Witch Weekly_ was popular, but it didn't reach as great a readership as the _Prophet_ by far.

"Any damage to my children should be averted, thanks to Minerva. Hugo is too young, thankfully, and Rose…" Hermione let out a short laugh. "Rose has learned about the realities of life from me and my parents. She's laughing about the whole affair and has told me not to worry."

"How old is she?"

"She was fourteen in September; we share a birthday."

"There might be teasing, taunting…"

"She'll handle it. I talked to Minerva and asked her to keep an eye on Rosie, but I'm not too worried. But that doesn't mean I'm not angry about the thoughtlessness… You don't expose your children to ridicule. This is simply not acceptable." The last part was said in an angry hiss again.

Before Severus could reply, a noise from the fireplace, together with a whirl of green light, soot and ashes, interrupted them.

"Severus?" Molly Weasley's voice came from the Floo. "Is Hermione there?"

"I'm here. What do you want?" Hermione said, none too friendly.

"We have to talk…"

Hermione ignored the snort from the background and scowled. "If you mean to confront me with Ron and his… fiancée, you'd better think again."

"No, no, don't worry, dear. Lavender won't be there—only the other girls and I."

"All right."

"Can you come through right away?"

Hermione shrugged and looked questioningly at Severus, who murmured, "By all means."

"I won't be long." Hermione flashed him a smile and stepped into the fire, grabbing a handful of Floo powder. "The Burrow!" And with a green whirl, she was gone.

* * *

When Hermione came back an hour later, her mood had improved greatly. Severus noticed with amusement that she now wore a smug smile instead of her earlier scowl.

"It looks like you've been plotting your revenge, already," he said when he caught her chuckling to herself for the third time. "A bit surprising, given where you spent the last hour."

"Oh, Molly isn't so bad. A bit old-fashioned, but her seven children weren't brought by the stork, you know… And just as I predicted, she took care of Lavender, but we also had another idea… She came up with an idea for a bit of subtle revenge—a bit silly, maybe, but there won't be any violence. No one will be harmed, really. Come to think of it…" She gave him a calculating look.

"What?"

"You know, we could help each other."

His puzzled look made her laugh. "I know and you know that your little… arrangement here with Harry and me is your little ploy for getting revenge. You've finally been able to get back at us for our past sins, isn't that it? No need to hide it any longer; I've seen right through it."

Severus eyebrows crawled up to his hairline. "Absolutely not. You are mistaken, I…"

She didn't let him finish. "Oh, piffle, it doesn't really matter, anyhow, does it? It's understandable, and we needed to make amends, too."

"I know that, but…" He shook his head, wondering if he would ever manage to finish a sentence again without having to pull his old teacher tricks up from their dusty grave.

"It's all right. I understand." That calculating look again. "But you didn't get any revenge on Ron, did you? He wriggled out of it, as usual… and that's where we could help each other."

Severus tried a different tactic. "How so?" There––just enough time for a short sentence fragment while she drew breath.

Her smile was sweet, deceptively so. "There's the Ministry Christmas ball, next month. We'll have finished the work on your library by then. How about we go to that ball together and enjoy ourselves? All you'll have to do is flirt with me a bit, and I'll flirt back. It'll only be for one evening."

"I should be delighted," Severus said in all honesty. "But how is that useful for your plan for revenge?"

"Lavender won't enjoy that evening very much; Molly will see to that. But I will enjoy myself. And if Lavender sees me dancing and flirting––and with you of all people––she'll be very, very envious."

"Envious?"

"Yes. You are, after all, one of the most sought-after bachelors of the season, in case you hadn't noticed…"

Hermione's sarcastic smirk made Severus' cheeks flush. He had noticed an increased interest among the witches of his acquaintance, but he hadn't known that things had progressed that far.

"I see," he ground out through clenched teeth. "And that helps you how, exactly?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Can't you see? I'll be the envy of most of the women at the ball, and that'll be good for my ego." She grinned cheekily. "Lavender will eat her heart out."

"If you say so." Severus was not convinced.

"Trust me. And Ron will be fuming."

"Is that so?"

"Oh, definitely! He's still of the opinion that he saved me from a fate worse than death by marrying me. The bookworm. Old Hermione, who is conveniently around all the time. But that part of my life is thankfully over, although I can't regret it because it gave me my children. In any case, Ron'll never believe that I can enjoy the company of another man, and vice versa." She smiled. "But you and me at the ball together, flirting and having fun, will just give him a fit. He's never been able to fully understand who you are and what you did for all of us."

All anger was gone from Hermione's face, and she looked at him earnestly, compassionately almost. But that was probably wishful thinking, Severus thought.

"Well, if that is what you wish, how can I refuse?" he said, and the deal was settled.

* * *

When Hermione came to pick Severus up on the night of the ball, his jaw dropped. He knew that she was good looking. She possessed a healthy, vital glow, together with a nice figure and pleasant features. Tonight, however, the handsome woman had disappeared, and an enchantress stood before him. He had to keep himself in check to not constantly stare; he didn't know how she had done it.

Hermione was wearing a long, black silk dress. It sheathed her figure perfectly: nothing was too tight, and nothing too loose. The dress was strapless, but the amount of skin exposed was moderate; Hermione didn't need to show excessive amounts of skin to be irresistible. Her curves formed the soft fabric, or maybe the fabric formed her curves; it really didn't matter. The dress was tantalizing but not too obvious, nor was it too revealing. It kept a man's interest up by keeping him constantly wondering about what lay underneath. Some of the fabric was gathered and draped on her left hip with a moderate slit at the front to give her room to move and walk, but it only offered glimpses of stocking when Hermione sat down and crossed her legs or pushed the fabric apart with a large step. In any case, Severus lacked the proper vocabulary to describe the dress properly. When she turned around to be admired, his breath hitched. Her hair wasn't twisted up but fell in soft, elegant waves onto her shoulders. He was certain, though, that she'd used vast amounts of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.

Her back looked soft and silky and was enough to make his fingers itch to touch and pull on that zip that held the whole thing together.

As if all that wasn't seductive enough, she was wearing long, black silk gloves. Even more skin was covered that was begging to be revealed. She looked ready to be eaten, to be devoured, pounced upon, ravished… Alas, all he could do was to nod his head briefly, stare at her coolly and murmur, "Acceptable... Quite... acceptable."

"Oh, don't go overboard with your enthusiasm." Hermione giggled, took his arm, and they walked to the Apparition point behind the fence.

* * *

Just as Severus had predicted, Hermione turned every man's head—and more than one woman's head, too. Pansy Zabini-Parkinson was the first to look her up and down with a hostile and envious glare. Pansy had made a huge effort, wearing a daring low-cut dress with high slits on both sides of the very tight skirt. Severus thought that she might as well have left the skirt off entirely so much leg was bared, but as so often, exposure of too much skin caused the opposite of what was intended. Not that Severus minded much; he liked to see naked female skin, like every other straight man, but Pansy's dress decidedly lacked class. Blaise guided his wife inside, but behind her back, he turned his head and gave Hermione an appreciative stare.

Inside the ballroom, Hermione looked around briefly and then led Severus over to a group of very elegant looking women. Severus did a double take. One of these women was Molly Weasley. Dressed in a flattering cream coloured dress and a lacy spencer jacket (or something of the kind, Severus thought) that covered her arms and shoulders. Arthur Weasley, in conservative black dress robes, stood beside his wife and looked completely bedazzled.

When she caught sight of them, Molly smiled and greeted them charmingly.

"Hermione! Look at you! And Severus, all elegant. You know Ginny, of course, but have you met my daughters-in-law?" she asked.

Severus merely nodded, slightly dazed. They were barely recognizable as the ordinary witches he knew them for, although Fleur Weasley always looked stunning. Before him stood beautiful, elegant, self-assured women who were determined to have a good time. Their husbands stood proudly at their sides, looking a bit overwhelmed.

One couple was missing, though. Severus looked around.

"If you're wondering where Ron and Lavender are, they're over there," Hermione said. "Molly told them to stay out of her sight tonight."

Ron was staring at the group with bulging eyes, and Lavender flushed beet-red. She was looking rather harmless, her low-cut, frilly dress making her look matronly instead of sexy.

"So what do you think?" Hermione asked.

"Being excluded from such an elegant group in the room, who also happen to be family, would smart, I suppose." Severus smirked, but before Hermione could reply, a bright flash blinded them.

"Oh, hello, Luna," Hermione greeted her friend. "You brought a camera?"

"Oh, yes," Luna said dreamily. "You look very beautiful tonight, Hermione. My article for the Quibbler's society section should have a picture, don't you think? You all look so elegant. And everyone will be safe now—the flash from the camera will ward off the Spucklemites."

"Spucklemites?"

"They cause irreversible apathy attacks. The Ministry is heavily infested with them," Luna said earnestly.

"I can believe that," Severus said, feeling patient for once. Although Luna Scamander, née Lovegood, hadn't changed one bit since he had known her in his classes, her enthusiastic acceptance of his apology and her honest welcome had warmed his heart more than he cared to admit and made his feelings towards her rather mellow.

"You look very beautiful, too, Mr. Snape," Luna said before she went away to talk to Ginny and Harry.

"Uh," Severus said to her back. Shaking his head slightly, he led Hermione to the dinner table where he was able to finally stare at her to his heart's content. She was his date, after all. He was entitled to a bit of staring.

As elegant as the Weasley women were tonight, Hermione outshone them all—at least, in Severus opinion. She moved with grace and elegance; her smile was enchanting, her conversation captivating. Severus had to remind himself constantly that he was there for a reason so not to fall completely under her spell.

After dinner and the speeches, the dancing started. Severus whirled Hermione around––she was a very good dancer––and warded the competition off with a vengeance.

"But you can't monopolize her," Dean Thomas whinged. "She'd want to dance with other blokes, too."

"I doubt it." Severus looked down his nose and led a smiling Hermione into the next dance.

"We're not living in the Victorian era any more where ladies had dance cards, for gods'sake," Hermione admonished Dean, who uttered some expletives behind Severus' back. She grinned up at Severus. "This is going splendidly."

Severus nodded and spiralled her into a Rumba move.

* * *

"Before I'm too pished…" Hermione giggled, raising her glass of champagne to him. "I sh… should thank you for this evening… Was lovely."

Severus felt rather mellow; he'd had his fair share of champagne, as well. "My pleasure," he purred, proud that he didn't mumble. They had moved from the dance floor to the bar, and he had successfully monopolized her some more.

"Skeeter was oddly quiet. I would have thought she'd approach you." He broached the subject of her revenge again.

"She always moved to the other side of the room when she saw Molly or me," Hermione said, laughing. Severus remembered fondly that both Molly and Hermione had something of a reputation for not being messed with.

"Did you see Ron's face when we danced the tango?" Hermione's smile was dreamy.

Severus shared her fondness for that particular memory; that had been some tango, indeed. They had moved together as if they'd evolved as a four-legged and four-armed creature revolving around a common centre of gravity. But now the evening was coming to an end, and Severus didn't quite know how to proceed. He didn't want to let her go, but he was afraid of making a move.

"We have to go soon," Hermione murmured and looked at him oddly.

"Can you Apparate? We wouldn't want to Splinch that lovely dress, now, would we?" Severus said and bit his tongue. That had slipped out involuntarily.

"Was that a compliment?" Hermione looked surprised and pursed her red-painted lips.

Severus would have liked to help her in removing that lipstick with slow, thorough kisses, but he had to remind himself forcefully that he was a means for revenge, nothing more.

"Why not," he shrugged. "Your appearance has certain, ah, aesthetic merit."

"Well, I'm glad you like it." That odd stare again. "And getting back to your question, no, I don't think I can Apparate." Her smile was provocative. Apparently, her revenge still wasn't complete.

Severus frowned. "So, tell me, Hermione, is it true what Skeeter writes? Are you lacking what a... proper witch has?" That took the smirk from her face and gave Severus a slight feeling of satisfaction. Two could play at that game. He wasn't a man who allowed himself to be used—not anymore, he thought bitterly.

Hermione's glare could have ignited cinders. She took a deep breath, pursed those red lips again and leaned towards him, staring him in the eyes. Insolent wench.

"Care to find out?" she said in a low, husky voice.

He swallowed. "Why not?" he murmured, stood up and took her arm, mentally berating himself for making a big mistake. Outside, he Apparated both of them to her house, and she led him inside.

The door closed behind them, and he drew her into a hard, aggressive kiss, which was returned just as aggressively. Out of breath, they stared at each other before she took him by the hand and dragged him to her bedroom without a word. He didn't put up any resistance, even as his mind screamed, _Run away!_ but he didn't listen to it. Once inside, he shrugged off his jacket and toed his shoes and socks off. She slipped out of her high heels, but when she started to take her long silk gloves off, he stilled her hand.

"Let me." Since this was bound to be a one-time occurrence, he might just as well enjoy it to the fullest.

She stared at him through long lashes. "If you wish."

He took great care to remove the glove from her left arm and hand, gently and gingerly rolling the fabric down and softly pulling at the fingers. He followed the trail of the glove with soft kisses on her shoulders and inner side of her arm. When the glove was finally off, he kissed the palm of her hand and repeated the procedure with the glove on her right arm, relishing the feel of the silky-soft skin. By the time he'd kissed the other palm as well, her eyes were glazed over, and she was looking slightly flushed.

His own breath wasn't as steady as it had been, either. He turned her around. "Now the dress." His lips followed his fingers and planted kisses on the skin as it was exposed by the zip. She wasn't wearing a bra. She wasn't wearing knickers. His trousers became tight. When the zip was opened as far as it could go, he turned her around again and slowly pushed the dress downwards until it formed a heap at her feet. She stepped out of it and stood before him clad only in her stockings and smiling invitingly.

"What about the stockings?" she asked seductively.

Severus was surprised to see that the stockings were not being held up by anything. That must have been some charm she'd used there. He ran his hand over the black silk.

"Leave these on," he whispered huskily.

He swallowed and drew her towards him, enveloping her in his arms. His searing kiss was returned just as fiercely. His hands had found her breasts, and while he stroked them, she moaned and rubbed her hips against him.

"Get these clothes off," she hissed, starting to open the buttons of his shirt and softly stroking his chest. He pulled his shirt out of his trousers and helped her with the buttons, watching her, mesmerised. She had started to stroke herself with one hand. Seeing this excited him even more than undressing her had.

He cleared his throat. "You're doing my job," he croaked while he pushed his trousers and boxers down and stepped out of them. His cock stood out proudly, and she stared at it with an expression in her eyes that wasn't entirely greed or longing. Hunger was what he would have called it—if he could still have reasoned clearly.

"Don't you like to watch?" she asked huskily, rubbing herself faster and stroking her breasts with the other hand.

"I prefer to be involved," he whispered and walked behind her, lifting her hair off her shoulders and neck. He bent down and kissed the exposed skin, the neck, both shoulders, and then followed her spine downwards.

She leaned into him. "I need a while to… you know?" she explained, sounding a bit insecure.

He stopped kissing her and stroked her neck with one finger. "There has to be some advantage in inviting an older man into your bed, don't you think? I'll last…" he murmured and covered her hand with his own, adjusting the rhythm of his stroking fingers to hers. She sighed and leaned her head back onto his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"Good?" he asked when she stopped stroking herself and instead moved her hands up and down the side of his legs.

"Mmmmh," she murmured, obviously completely immersed in the sensations his fingers elicited.

"Allow me," he said when he felt her breath speeding up. He gently turned her around, his hand still stimulating her clit. Some gentle pushing while he kissed her again manoeuvred her towards the bed. With a soft "oomph", she sat down when her calves hit the frame. He sank onto his knees, spread her legs and dived in.

She squeaked, "Merlin's balls…" before her words became incoherent.

"Stop thinking," he mumbled and continued to kiss, nibble, lick and suck until she cried out and came with a shuddering moan.

He waited until she'd caught her breath again and stood up, leaning over her. "May I?"

She nodded, still looking dazed, and he lifted her hips up and entered slowly.

"Merlin, that feels good," she murmured when he was all the way in.

He watched her through half-closed lids. She was still breathing fast; her skin was flushed and her nipples hard. She wasn't completely down from her high yet, which was how he wanted it. He moved slowly, making certain that he kept stimulating her clit with his thrusts. When he felt her move together with him, felt her join his rhythm, he changed his angle slightly until she squeaked and her eyes flew open.

"Good?" he asked again, keeping a firm grip on his own emotions and expression––he hoped. There was no way that he'd show her how much being with her, being inside her, delighted him.

"Guh!" was all the answer he got, and after that, there were only moans and sighs.

"Close, so close," she whispered after a while, and he intensified his efforts until she keened. He felt the telltale spasms all around him and wanted nothing more than to speed up and join in. After debating briefly with himself, he called himself a fool and let go. He came a short while later with a low grunt.

As soon as Severus could think again, he withdrew, cleaned himself up and stepped into his trousers. "I take it that your revenge is complete now, Ms. Granger," he said coldly, about to open the door.

"Oh, don't be such an idiot, Severus, and come back," Ms. Granger grunted.

He blinked, his posture stiffened, and his hand rested unmoving on the doorknob.

"If you think I'd sleep with a man for revenge then… then… I thought you'd know better than that. When I choose someone for my bed, it's because I'm attracted to him. Now stop acting up and come back."

He turned around slowly and frowned.

She had covered herself with the sheets and was glaring at him, biting her lip. "Unless… ah… perhaps you didn't enjoy it?"

"I don't like being used."

"Well, neither do I," Hermione hissed. "If you think I just did this for revenge, why did you play along? Why act as if you had a good time? And what you did with me, here… I can't believe that was cold scheming." She looked at him innocently; a small smile on her lips, one hand patted the bed at her side.

He gave in, let go of the doorknob and went back to the bed. When he sat down, he sighed. "And now?"

She sniffed. "I was hoping that, perhaps, we could do it again?" That was a rather hopeful look she gave him there—and a small insolent smirk.

"Really?"

"Oh, for gods' sake, Severus! Yes, really. So why don't you lie down with me here, get some rest and cuddle a bit? I do enjoy your company, too, not only your, ah… you know?"

"I don't cuddle." He had moved to her side and put an arm around her while she put her head on his shoulder.

"No, of course not. We're just keeping each other warm." She laughed, and Severus felt something melt inside him. Maybe this evening hadn't been such a mistake, after all.

"So, did you achieve what you wanted to at the ball, then?" he asked after a while, absentmindedly stroking her hair.

"I think so, yes, but I don't care all that much. I had such a smashing time, thanks to you." She rolled around, now partly lying on his stomach, and stroked his face with her index finger.

"You weren't bad yourself," he admitted grudgingly. "But will you tell me finally what this was all about? What exactly did Ms Brown refer to in that article? You weren't exactly unresponsive here… ah… earlier."

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out with a hiss. "I… ah… I could kill Ron… It's… I take a while to really get going, and so I like to experiment." She stared at him suggestively.

"So?"

"In bed, I mean. You know, trying out different positions, playing a bit... All rather harmless, or so I thought. I do like to be on top on occasion or find positions to improve my, ah, response, but Ron… Apparently, that's not what he thinks a proper witch does… and he couldn't keep his gob shut…"

Severus grimaced. "What does Weasley know about what a proper witch does?"

"According to Molly, he didn't learn that crap from her. She thinks that he spent too much time with his aunt Muriel. And Muriel's idea of proper behaviour is that a witch is supposed to fall in love with her sweetheart when she's eleven, marry him after school and then have his babies. And it's how people still do it. Look at Ginny, at Fleur… Molly and Arthur met at school. So did Harry's…ah…I'm sorry."

Severus glared at her. "And I wouldn't have been an exception, as you well know."

"Yes," she whispered. "But you've grown out of it."

"Are you sure?"

"You wouldn't be so skilled and confident as a lover if you hadn't…"

He still glared. "I don't know if I would have grown out of it, but she didn't choose me, so…"

"So you found other women?"

"Yes."

"And enjoyed yourself?"

"Yes."

"And learned a thing or two on the way?"

"Obviously."

"There you have it. And did it ever occur to you that you didn't behave like a proper wizard ought to?"

"Once or twice. My Gran might have mentioned it."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

"Should it?"

Hermione laughed out loud. "Absolutely not. I'm rather glad…" She had moved her stroking finger from his face to his chest, and he felt himself get all interested again. He took her hand and kissed her fingers.

"And so the formidable Mr. Weasley and the, ah, proper Ms. Brown have found each other and enjoy the traditional ways. And you are having a hard time finding someone you trust enough to experiment with, is that it?" Severus felt very gratified by the way Hermione stared back at him, hypnotized, fascinated.

She cleared her throat. "That's exactly it. And so, for the most part, I have to rely on myself… uhm…you know that invention of mine…"

"Yes?"

"That charmed reader box… I invented it because it helps me get into the mood when I…"

"Remarkable…" He stared at her. She was the most amazing woman he'd ever met.

"You think so?" She smiled. "You know, it's not as if other witches aren't interested or repressed much, only no one ever speaks about it… You'd think in a girl's dorm... but no… They used to come and look at my teen magazines. Can you imagine? My parents always answered my questions openly, and so I knew all about the theory… Contraception, too, of course. I had my children when I wanted them, not when they surprised me… Hermione looked at him with narrowed eyes. "And later, uhm, you know, no one knows this, but I thought young witches and wizards could profit from a bit more non-technical education on the subject, so I wrote a book to help things along a bit, under a pseudonym of course, and it became an instant bestseller. Mind you, it's still a bit technical, but I thought… seeing as there is no Internet in the wizarding world where people can look things up easily… "

He just stared at her, unbelieving.

"Don't be so surprised. You should know that I can't let things rest when I find that improvement is needed." She grinned sheepishly.

"Indeed," he said. "So what is that pseudonym of yours?"

"It's Perdita Scharlach. And the book is _'The Lusty Witch'_."

"Perdita Scharlach?" He stared and tried to remain cool and detached, but he could feel his lips twitching. After a while, he couldn't keep up the pretence any longer and laughed out loud. "This is brilliant," he wheezed between chuckles.

"You're the first person who understands the name," she said and gave him an odd look. "No one else did, and no one made the connection. Which is what you'd want from a pseudonym, I suppose."

He sighed and drew her closer. "You're amazing, you know that?" he murmured just before she moved further up on top of him and kissed him. And then they showed each other just how much they enjoyed a bit of experimentation.

* * *

Three weeks later, Severus sat opposite Hermione at the breakfast table in his house and wondered idly if they were now considered a couple or not. They never talked about feelings. They arranged a time and place, spent some time together with an activity they both enjoyed, talked, laughed, and had sex. Good, exciting sex, at that. It was what he had wanted, and he knew he should be content, but he wasn't. He had the reliable sex, but the emotion and the drama were still missing. He had fallen in love with Hermione quite some time ago, head over heels, but he still didn't know how she felt about him. And he feared that talking about feelings would ruin what they had.

They had shared their experiences as single war heroes and found that they were in rather similar dilemmas where their love lives were concerned. Being with each other didn't pose the same problems as being with other people did. They did get along well but weren't old friends, and so Hermione had no fear of ruining an old friendship. They were both single; they were both heroes; they were ideal partners from a strictly logical point of view. However, for once, Severus didn't want to be logical. He was in love and wanted to be loved back. And, eventually, he would have to bring the topic up because going on like this for too long would just shatter his already fragile heart completely.

"How about the day after tomorrow?" Hermione asked, looking up from the paper.

Severus sighed. "Fine with me. Your place or mine?"

"Mine, if you don't mind. I have something I'd like to show you in Diagon Alley, on Friday afternoon. I could do with some advice, and if you like, we can have dinner together afterwards. My house is closer."

"Certainly. What is it that you want to show me?"

"I'm writing a new book. And you'll get all the details on Friday." She grinned.

"Very well. I thought that perhaps you'd market the vibrator, now?"

Hermione had told Severus about her vibrator project, but she also told him that she hadn't really needed it since she'd been seeing him. He had convinced her that two could use it just as well as one person could, much to her delight.

"No, not until after the book is published. The 'decent' wizarding world isn't ready for vibrators yet, and I'm not interested in selling it only in Knockturn Alley."

"I see," was all he replied.

They finished their breakfast and then parted.

* * *

ETA: While it's nice to get reviews, I don't want to pretend to be mysterious. Perdita is Hermione's daughter in 'The Winter's Tale' and Scharlach is German for scarlet.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. Just borrowed. Will be returned. Snape is welcome to stay, though._

A big Thank You goes to my beta-reader and brit-picker, Melusin, who transfers my babble into language, sorts my random punctuation and is a good friend. This story was written for an anti-doom-and-gloom challenge by Melusin.

Several people asked about Hermione's pseudonym in the last chapter. Perdita is the name of Hermione's daughter in 'The Winter's Tale' and Scharlach is German for scarlet.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Two days later, Hermione met Severus in front of an old, inconspicuous little shop in Diagon Alley. The shop window had several paintings on display, and the sign over the door said, '_Dean Thomas, Artist and Photographe_r.'

"You're writing a book with pictures," Severus murmured after Hermione had met him at the appointed time. "That'll be popular. Finally, something that meets the intellectual level of the average reader."

Hermione laughed. "And there was me thinking you'd lost your sarcasm completely—the way you're charming the socks off your female acquaintances ever since you returned."

"Am I charming your socks off?"

"Of course you are. Mine, and… let's see… those of several hundred other witches."

"If I didn't know better, I'd detect a hint of jealousy there," he mumbled, glancing at her sideways.

Hermione frowned. Of course there was a hint of jealousy there. How could he possibly doubt it? She saw him clench his jaws. Apparently, he had said something he hadn't wanted to say. She'd better let it rest; she didn't want to ruin what they had. Their relationship, if it could be called that, was still rather fragile. Severus, while obviously enjoying her company and their activities, never mentioned feelings of any kind, and plans for future meetings were only made tentatively, from meeting to meeting. There was no agreement, no pledge, and no promise. It left Hermione feeling insecure and unsatisfied. She wanted more; she wanted a chance with him, a future.

Her own feelings had become clear a short while ago. When Severus had laughed about her pseudonym, it had hit her completely unawares. This man shared her sense of humour. He understood what she was saying without her having to explain. He wasn't only a breathtakingly dedicated and patient lover, he'd also turned out to be good company––the kind Hermione considered to be good, in any case; the same couldn't necessarily be said of other people. And so, after spending several weeks in each other's company and beds, Hermione had become aware that she was in love. She wanted to keep Severus, but she wasn't sure how he felt about her, and she didn't want to ruin what they had by rushing in and confronting him with her feelings too soon.

"Let's go in," Hermione said and opened the door. She talked briefly to the shop assistant, who pointed upwards and smiled.

"We're going upstairs," Hermione told Severus, who had been studying the landscapes and portraits on display with a critical eye. With a polite nod at the elderly witch in the portrait––she had recognized him and engaged him in conversation––he turned around and followed Hermione to the back door.

"Were all these pictures painted by Mr. Thomas?" Severus asked while they climbed up the narrow stairs.

"Yes. Talented, isn't he?"

"He has potential…"

Hermione grinned and knocked at a door on the third-floor landing.

"Hermione?" Dean's voice sounded from within. "Do come in. The door's open."

Hermione had been in the flat before and knew that it was overstuffed with paintings. She noticed how Severus looked around curiously. There was a narrow corridor with doors left and right and a large glass door at the end. Every available space was covered with pictures: some were covered with cloth, some were facing the walls, others were arranged for display.

The glass door opened into a large studio with skylights in the sloping ceiling. Just as in the corridor, every available space was covered with pictures, but there was also some furniture. A large ottoman stood under one of the skylights. There were easels, cupboards with brushes and paints, shelves with paper and stacks of stretched canvas.

A large easel was placed underneath the largest skylight, and Dean stood in front of it, loaded palette in one hand, brush in the other, and a spare brush tucked behind his ear. He wore a long, grey smock that was speckled with paints of all colours.

"Pro… ah, Mr. Snape," Dean Thomas said and nodded.

"Mr. Thomas," Severus replied, sounding curious.

Hermione felt tense; she wondered what he would think about her project. She looked around and noticed that not all was as it should have been. "Where are Sandra and Kevin?" she asked after briefly kissing Dean on the cheek. "I wanted to see how you're progressing with them. Why aren't they here? Is there a problem?"

Hermione was speaking very fast, now; she had to know what was going on. She didn't notice Severus melting into the background, an amused smile on his face.

"Hold it, hold it." Dean had put the brush and palette down and was making calming gestures with his hands. "Don't get into a fit over it. They both send you their regards, but also the message that they need a break. They don't think they're getting paid enough for what you want from them."

"What? They get…"

"Let me finish. They asked me to tell you that if you… How did they put it? Oh yes, wait. If you can prove that these positions can be assumed safely by normal people without dislocated joints and slipped discs, then they might return, but only then."

"Oh, bollocks!" Hermione swore. "They can't leave us hanging like that. Why didn't you…?"

"Hermione..." Dean tried to sound calming. "They do have a point. Sandra can't walk on some days, her joints and muscles are so strained. Tell me, have you ever tried any of them yourself?"

Hermione felt sheepish. "Only a few, but…" She looked around helplessly until her glance rested on Severus, who had been following the conversation with a frown. "Why don't we let Severus be the judge? I still say, they just wanted more money. What a low way to…"

"Maybe you can enlighten me first," Severus said quietly, "before you get all worked up over nothing?"

Hermione nodded and took a calming breath. "I told you about the book. Well… it's basically a modernized version of the _Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana_. Magical people usually have a thing for the classics—for old-fashioned things. A classic like the Kama Sutra, adjusted just a bit to fit into the modern world, would be more appealing than something entirely new, I thought."

"The Kama Sutra?"

"Yes. With the main focus on the embraces and ways of congress. I'll only briefly refer to all the sexist claptrap of the ancients—about how women should be enjoyed, and all that."

Severus smirked. "I see."

Hermione smirked back. "Yes. If someone is interested in all the other arts and skills in there—how to decorate a house, make flower arrangements, and all that—they can read the original. My own focus, here, is on the giving and receiving pleasure for both witch and wizard."

Severus nodded and glanced at Dean, who was leaning against a table, arms crossed, listening attentively.

"The original comes with illustrations, but they are Muggle, rather old and stylized—and static. I thought with some wizarding illustrations, things would be clearer for the reader. Dean, here, agreed to try his hand at the pictures."

Dean grinned and winked at Severus who, quite predictably, scowled. "I see. And where is the problem?"

"It's the models. We hired two models for Dean to paint in the various positions, but now they want more money.

"I'm only about half-finished with the project," Dean threw in while he sorted through a stack of small paintings. "Here––do you want to see one?"

"Not again…" two faint voices came from the canvas. The picture was of a naked man and woman. Looking very tired, they glared at Hermione and then turned towards each other.

"What they're about to do is called the 'suspended congress'," Hermione explained while Severus stooped down to take a closer look.

The man in the painting supported himself against the wall. He grabbed the woman's bottom and lifted her up in a way so that she was sitting on his hands, which were joined together and held underneath her. She threw her arms around his neck, and putting her thighs alongside his waist, moved herself by her feet, which were touching the wall against which the man was leaning. They kept moving like this for as long as Severus watched.

Hermione noticed with amusement how Severus' cheeks flushed. As a test audience, he wasn't bad, and this reaction was quite promising. The display in the picture was rather hot, and she saw how he had to force himself to look away.

"I can see how this could… ah… entice the readers to try it out," he said after he had cleared his throat. "But why are they so tired?"

"I, ah, forgot to put them away while some other customers were giving me their submissions earlier, and they were stared at for quite some time. The others had no idea what it was all about, of course," Dean added hastily when he saw Hermione's face. She was very annoyed; she didn't want the word being spread about the project just yet, and she was not prepared to give up her pseudonym.

"I understand," Severus murmured and glanced sideways at the couple in the portrait. They were still at it.

"If we could at least finish off," the woman in the portrait complained. "But no, each time someone looks at us, we have to start anew. Demonstrate the technique, and that's it."

"This is supposed to be art, not pornography," Hermione hissed.

"Hypocrite." The man huffed. The couple had stopped their activities now and were standing side by side, hands on hips, glaring at their audience.

Hermione mumbled something incomprehensible and turned the picture to the wall. A faint "Despot!" could be heard, but Hermione paid it no heed and turned to Severus.

"The models find some of the positions too difficult, which is nonsense," Hermione took the conversation back to the point.

"You know, some of them_ are_ quite twisted," Dean said. "You really should try them yourself. If you don't have a partner, I'll gladly volunteer." He grinned insolently.

_Not again_ Hermione thought. She had been warding off Dean's attentions ever since the ball at Christmas. Dean was an old friend, but there simply was no spark between them.

"Idiot!" She laughed. "Give it up, will you? It's not going to happen."

"Worth a try," Dean said, ogling her. "You looked so delicious at the Ministry ball, you know."

"Forget it," Hermione said. "I'll think about the problem and get back to you. We need to go, now."

Dean stared after them with a puzzled frown. "Say," he cried before Hermione closed the door. "Are you two an item?"

"None of your business," Hermione snapped and closed the door. The nerve…

* * *

Severus' mood had been thoroughly ruined by the time they had dinner together at a small restaurant around the corner from Hermione's house. He was lost in thought and merely glanced at her from time to time while they ate. He wondered how much longer she would put up with him. There were other, younger wizards who were interested in her. Dean Thomas was a case in point.

Later, they were sitting in Hermione's lounge and sharing a bottle of wine. "You are awfully quiet this evening." Hermione looked at him with a puzzled frown.

"Perhaps you should take up Dean Thomas' offer of trying out the Kama Sutra with him," he blurted out, silently cursing himself for not letting it rest. "From what you've told me about your preferences, he sounds like the ideal partner. He was brought up by Muggles; he's attractive, young, unrestrained…"

"Are you tired of me, already?" Hermione asked. She didn't look happy.

Severus wondered if he had gone too far and got too personal.

"I was rather hoping…" Hermione swallowed the rest of her sentence. "He is not my type. There is no spark. We've known each other since first year; we were in he same house. He's a friend, and that's it." She glanced at him pensively.

Severus knew that he should have been relieved, but he wasn't. Jealousy had attacked him unawares. He had no right to be jealous; there was no attachment from her side. Hermione had never indicated that she wanted more from him than a bit of friendly company and sex. They were more than fuck buddies, but he wouldn't call them 'an item', exactly. There were just too many insecurities on both sides; there was never a mention of feelings or any long-term plans.

"He's right, though," Severus said. "You should have tried those positions before you asked the models to perform them. That way, you'd also know what you can safely include and what might be too difficult, or too risqué, for the average couple."

"I've tried a few of them in the past," Hermione said, still with that thoughtful glance. "But, if you think it's a good idea… let's try them together, then." She flashed him a small smile.

Severus blinked. This was his chance to spend more time with her, on a regular basis. This was his chance to find out if she had any feelings for him. She'd chosen him over Dean Thomas, after all, hadn't she? But he had to be certain. He would not let her break his heart.

While he'd been looking at her, silently pondering the implications of her suggestion, her own expression had changed. The slightly flirtatious smile was gone and had been replaced by an expressionless mask. Only a slight nibbling of teeth on lower lip belied the pretence of indifference.

"Ah, maybe it wasn't such a good idea then. Forget I asked…"

"Oh, no." That was not at all what he had in mind. "I should be delighted to, ah, work on this project with you." His smirk caused her to smile, and her eyes lit up. "I was just thinking that perhaps, for the full experience, we shouldn't restrain ourselves to the embraces and ways of congress but include some of the preparatory rituals as well."

Hermione's lips opened slightly in astonishment, and Severus thought that he'd much rather kiss her than lead this discussion, but she was all agitated now.

"But that's an excellent idea!" she exclaimed. "Atmosphere **is** important. We could include some of the more general arts, adapt them to our time and place. That'd get us away from being too technical and make the whole thing a lot more sensual."

Her eyes were shining, and he gave her a small smile and a nod. She wasn't finished yet, though. "We could… let's… ah, but this could take a while, you know. The whole Kama Sutra consists of seven parts, thirty-six chapters, and sixty-four paragraphs. Are you certain that you want to commit so much time and effort to the project… to me?"

"Would I have suggested it otherwise?" He smirked, raised an eyebrow and was rewarded with a radiant smile.

"You won't regret it," she said and stood up, holding a hand out to him. He took it and followed her to the bedroom where they continued their project planning––among other things.

* * *

Hermione was looking forward to their first project meeting very much. Here was a chance to show Severus, subtly, how she felt about him. He didn't have to understand; they could both pretend that her actions didn't mean anything, but maybe, just maybe, Severus would take the hint and give her an idea about his own feelings in return.

When she knocked on the door to Foxglove Cottage, Spunky answered and let her in, grinning a friendly welcome and then going about her business. Hermione walked down the corridor to the lounge. Severus jumped up when she came in, looking expectantly at her. "Ah, there you are."

Hermione merely nodded and walked up to him, attaching herself to him. She took his head in both hands and bent it down to hers, slightly making the sound of 'sut sut'. Then she embraced him and looked lovingly towards him.

Severus shook his head, suppressing a grin. "You know, the 'twining of a creeper' is all well and good, but the _'sut sut'––_" He couldn't suppress his snort any longer. "I'd say it's a bit counterproductive. What does the sound 'sut' mean, anyway?"

"Beats me." Hermione laughed. "Oh, very well, then."

She didn't let go of him but instead stepped on his foot and raised the other leg, trying to climb up his thigh.

"Ouch, what are you doing!" He gently pushed her away and massaged his foot.

"You're supposed to kiss me, not push me away." Hermione pouted. "It's called 'the climbing of a tree'."

"I suppose it might work with a Levitation Charm, Hermione."

"Are you saying that I'm fat?" This wasn't going as expected.

"No, not at all," he said quickly and finally bent down to kiss her. She took advantage and kissed him thoroughly back. "I just think for these acrobatics, you need a very small woman and a very tall man."

"Those were only some of the more basic embraces. If you're complaining about them already, how are we going to complete the more difficult ones?"

"Don't you want to get comfortable first?" he asked, leering theatrically while he led her to the bedroom.

"After you," she said and attacked the buttons of his shirt.

The re-enactment of the 'suspended congress' turned out to be mutually satisfying. Severus proved to Hermione that she was not too heavy for him, and she convinced him that they'd both have more fun if he cast a Levitation Charm on her. They both liked that version so much that she decided to include the Levitation Charm as a suggested variety of the classical position.

* * *

Over the following weeks, they went through the positions of congress with various degrees of success. Very often, Hermione was afraid of putting Severus' back out from all the lifting and twisting, and he seemed a bit unreasonable at times, not wanting to show his age, she thought. On those occasions, she took great care to not hurt his feelings and find a way to make the acrobatics less strenuous.

His repeated complaint, "I'm not a contortionist, woman," was laughed away by her regularly, and she praised his fitness and flexibility. However, when they reached the 'fixing-a-nail' position, Hermione was forced to reconsider.

Severus had the book open in front of him and was reading it out loud. "_The woman lies back and places one of her legs behind her head and stretches out the other leg. This is known as fixing a nail and is a difficult posture. It should not be forced: it should be perfected by practice_."

"I'd say," Hermione said, desperately trying to move her leg behind her head. "Ouch!" With a pained yell, she let go of her leg and stretched out. "I can't do it," she moaned. "I think I've strained the muscle."

"We'll have to massage it, then," Severus said and started to stroke her upper thigh with both hands.

"Maybe kiss it better, too?" Hermione suggested.

Severus complied.

* * *

A week later, Hermione was studying the Kama Sutra intently while Severus, already undressed, lay on his bed and watched her.

"What will it be today?" he asked.

Hermione looked up and smiled. "After last week's acrobatics, I need a little rest for my leg, so nothing too strenuous. I was wondering if I should include the Acharyas." She walked over to him and stroked his thigh, seeing with delight how eagerly his cock responded to her touch.

"Some women don't like it, but all men do, I think," he said lazily, his eyes half-closed.

"Vatsyayana says that in things connected with love, everybody should act according to the custom of their country and their own inclination. I think we can leave all that purity stuff out and just include a few suggestions. Like this, for instance…" She kissed his thigh, slowly moving upwards.

"I'm all for including… aaaaah…" he moaned when she gently licked his balls.

Hermione really enjoyed giving head when the man wasn't too demanding, and Severus proved to be the perfect gentleman. His moans of gratitude and delight fuelled her own passion. He caressed her hair but never pushed or urged her to deep-throat, which she couldn't do very well. But she could suck and nibble and stroke, and soon he was moaning, "Almost there.. Watch out."

Hermione kept going, sucking with even more fervour until he came in her mouth.

"Acceptable?" she asked after she'd swallowed.

"Quite," he said and took her into his arms.

* * *

"_When a woman stands on her hands and feet like a quadruped, and her lover mounts her like a bull, it is called the 'congress of a cow'. At this time, everything that is ordinarily done on the bosom should be done on the back._

_In the same way can be carried on the congress of a dog, the congress of a goat, the congress of a deer, the forcible mounting of an ass, the congress of a cat, the jump of a tiger, the pressing of an elephant, the rubbing of a boar, and the mounting of a horse. And in all these cases, the characteristics of these different animals should be manifested by acting like them_.

"This is ridiculous," Severus growled after he'd read the passage out loud. "You're not expecting me to prance around and snort like a stallion, are you?" He looked at her. She was grinning insolently.

"As long as I don't need to whinny."

That got a snort from him.

"There we go." She laughed. "Now all you need to do is a bit of prancing before…" She glanced at him sideways.

He noticed her insecurity and found her irresistible, all of a sudden. Maybe this role-playing lark did have something going for it, after all? And she did have such a lovely arse.

He went to her and stroked that delectable arse before slapping it lightly. "I wouldn't mind a bit of mounting, mind you," he whispered and was more than pleased to feel her shudder.

"All right, then," she said, starting to undress. He followed suit and soon they stood naked, facing each other. "Let's get right to it then, I don't suppose horses have foreplay, do they?" she asked, staring at his already erect cock with a hunger that continually amazed him.

"Not that I'm aware of," he murmured, gently holding her hips to turn her around.

She sank to her knees and bent forwards, now resting on all fours, her head slightly lowered. He stroked her arse and probed. Her wetness told him that he was welcome, and so he did indeed mount her without preamble, thrusting slowly but deeply. It elicited a long sigh from both of them. When he was inside her as far as he could go, he bent over her back and gently pushed her hair from her neck.

"However, I do think that horses do _this_..." He nibbled at that sensitive spot at the nape of the neck

She let out a startled shriek that turned into a giggle.

"Not bad for a whinny, but you need a bit more practice," he mumbled and continued nibbling and biting neck and upper back.

She shrieked again, from laughter this time. He had started to move in and out slowly and was almost pushed out by the contractions of her abdominal muscles while she laughed. "You're killing me here," she snickered.

"I'll have to revive you, then," he murmured while he watched the tantalising jiggle of her buttocks. He moved in a steady rhythm until she sighed and they both started to breathe faster. Then he bent over her again, softly rubbing her nipples with his hand. "I doubt that a horse can do _this_…" he whispered in her ear while she pushed back at him, urging him to move faster. "Or this." His hand moved from her breasts to her clit and started rubbing and stroking.

Her moans got louder. "Much, much better that way…" she gasped out and rocked back against him while he increased the speed and depth of his thrusts.

Merlin help him, but this felt so incredibly good. The sight of her, flushed and sweaty, breasts swinging and buttocks jiggling, turned him on like nothing on earth. The sound of skin slapping on skin—something he had found embarrassing in his youth—now only increased his enjoyment, just as her moans and soft cries did. His own sounds now did indeed resemble the snorting of a stallion, he thought, but the slight amusement didn't break his rhythm.

"Severus, more, more…" he heard her gasp and put all his effort into this last phase of their coupling. He felt her muscles clenching around him and noted her breathing getting erratic. She was close, and that thought made him ready as well. A bit of extra attention to her clit, a few more deep, twisting thrusts, and she was coming with a loud "Yes!" The spasming of her vaginal walls around his cock was something he always looked forward to when they were together. He often forced himself to last through this to be able to give her a second wave of pleasure shortly after, but this time he was too far gone. She ground herself onto him, rotating her hips and prolonging her pleasure, her walls massaging his cock. That sent him over the edge, and he groaned out her name, despite his better judgement.

A moment later, they both collapsed. Breathing heavily, they rolled onto their sides, and Severus held her in his arms for a little while, but not for too long. They were working on a project together, and as much as he would have liked it to be more than that, he couldn't be certain. She was sending out mixed signals.

She stayed in his arms a long while, though. "Quite playful, those ancient people, weren't they?" she murmured. "Damn, that was good. Thank you, Severus."

"I have to thank _you_," he murmured, and let go of her, standing up. While he cleaned himself and got dressed, he asked, "Next paragraph, tomorrow?"

"Oh yes, please." She beamed.

He kissed her lightly on the cheek and left.

* * *

When Hermione arrived at Foxglove Cottage the next day, Spunky didn't lead her to the lounge but straight to the terrace. Hermione caught her breath. Severus was standing in the middle of something that looked like a tropical paradise. A faint fragrance of peaches and orchids was in the air, and the terrace was completely covered in flowers. _An impressive use of the Orchideus charm_, Hermione thought. A warming charm had been cast over the area, and Severus stood barefoot and in his shirtsleeves. He smiled when he saw her, took her by the hand and kissed her. Then he led her to a low table, sat at her side and invited her to eat and drink.

Hermione was delighted. She knew what this was all about. This was the prelude to congress, according to Vatsyayana. She smiled when Severus started to play with her hair and leaned into him, slowly opening the buttons of his shirt.

"This is lovely," she murmured. "It makes me want to take off your clothes even faster than usual."

"Tut, tut," Severus said. "You're not supposed to be so passionate, yet. Vatsyayana says that the man's passion is strongest in the beginning—when the woman's is weakest. And in the end, when the man is tired, the woman's passion is at its highest. You're supposed to eat and drink, sing and talk until you are overcome with passion and desire."

"Quite right," Hermione said. "But he didn't know me. My passion is quite strong already, thank you very much. "

"Should I be afraid?" Severus asked, nibbling at her ear.

"Very." She grinned and offered him better access to her neck.

"You'd better not want me to sing," Severus murmured, kissing a trail down her neck until he reached the hollow of her throat. "But I have a Wireless." With a wave of his wand, soft music began playing in the background.

"I suppose that instead of playing an instrument and singing with and without gesticulation, we could dance instead."

"That sounds like an acceptable variation," Hermione agreed and let herself be led into a slow waltz. After a while, she started to play with the buttons of his shirt again. "You know, I'm already overcome with love and desire."

"Are you?"

"Yes." Hermione looked up at him, sincerity in her eyes. Severus lacked his customary smirk and stared back at her, questioning and searching. Hermione's heart hammered. Was he giving her a hint? _Slowly, take it slowly_, she thought and smiled at him invitingly.

He smiled back. "Goal achieved, then," he said hoarsely and led her to the bedroom.

The position they chose this time was simple, almost meditative. It was called the Kama's Wheel. Severus sat with his legs outstretched. Hermione lowered herself onto his penis. She also extended her legs. He then stretched out his arms along either side of her body. This position was supposed to combine sex and meditation and to bring the lovers to a higher level of awareness. Both enjoyed it very much and were in a calm and happy mood when they'd finished.

After taking a shower, Severus led Hermione back to the terrace. He sat down, pulling her down to his side where she lay with her head in his lap. "I'm supposed to show you the moon and star constellations, now," he whispered. "Alas, the sky is overcast."

"It's the thought that counts," Hermione whispered back. "This is so incredibly romantic. Thank you so much for this, Severus."

"It sets a certain mood," he murmured. "It would certainly be worth inclusion in your book, don't you think?"

"Absolutely." Hermione nodded not wanting to ruin the mood by talking too much. She'd never forget this night, no matter how their mutual feelings developed. None of the men Hermione had encountered in the past were very romantic. She still marvelled that Severus had prepared this romantic setting and gone through with it. It was casting a completely new light on him, and Hermione allowed herself to hope that he'd done that for her, not only for the project.

After a while, Severus led her back to his bedroom. Since Hermione had agreed to stay for the night, they could fall asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

"There's that whole section of scratching, biting and hitting," Hermione said when they met the next time. "I don't think I'll include any of that."

Severus stood at her dressing-table, studying the book. He looked up and studied her reflection in the mirror.

"It's too dangerous," she continued. "You can seriously hurt a person when you don't know what you're doing. Remember that whip down there in your 'pleasure room'? I shudder when I think about how badly you can hurt a person when you don't know where to hit."

"Quite right," Severus said. "And such, ah, kinks should perhaps be left to the more specialized literature. But I had been quite looking forward to being spanked by you until my arse is all red, and you're panting from excitement."

Hermione's face flushed. That thought was indeed exciting––but only with Severus as a partner. She looked at him staring back at her in the mirror. A slight smile lit up his stern features, and Hermione's heart ached at the thought that she might lose him. She'd have to get things clear about their feelings; she had to know…

But that didn't make the decision about the inclusion of this kind of erotic games any easier. Hermione still suffered from nightmares from when Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured her during the war and got all excited about it. Pain and violence was something Hermione didn't find erotic, at all—the thought of Severus' reddened arse, notwithstanding.

He was still watching her in the mirror. She glanced at him from under lowered lids and saw him gently stroke her reflection in the mirror. Her breath caught. That was, according to Vatsyayana, a sign of love. Was he giving her a sign? Why else would he have done that?

She was now almost certain that he had feelings for her. Maybe she should be more blunt and show him that she loved him, too? She knew that he was a careful and private man who didn't trust easily. He would guard his heart and not give it away lightly. Hermione had to show him how serious she was. And she had just the idea of how to go about it.

"You shouldn't include it if you don't feel comfortable with it," he said after a while.

"I don't think I could write about pain and pleasure in an unbiased way… But since you seem to like the idea so much, let's just try the spanking part…" And so they did, and Hermione found out that she did like it, after all.

* * *

Their next meeting took place at Hermione's house. After their last meeting, Severus now felt that something had changed. He didn't think that he could stand the uncertainty about their involvement for much longer. There was a tension in the air every time they met… It made his hairs stand on end, but he didn't think it was erotic tension alone. Something had to be resolved soon, for better or worse.

Hermione greeted him with a passionate kiss. The way she looked at him almost took all doubt away. Swallowing, he let himself be led to the bedroom where she undressed him and urged him to lie back on the bed. She undressed herself, slowly, provocatively, while he watched, his throat going dry.

She sat down at his side and kissed him, stroking his chest. "Tonight, I want you to remain passive for a while."

"All right." He sighed in delight when she blanketed his chest with soft, wet kisses and gently teased his nipples. Stroking his chest, she straddled him and took his erect cock in her hand. "May I?"

He nodded, not certain that he was understanding the message right.

She sank down on him slowly and sighed, but the look she gave him was an odd mixture of expectation, insecurity and…hope? So maybe he did understand her correctly.

"_Though a woman is reserved, and keeps her feelings concealed; yet when she gets on the top of a man, she then shows all her love and desire._" he quoted. Now it was his turn to look at her insecurely.

"Yes" was all she said before she started to move.

"Typical that there is a way for the woman to show her love clearly but not for the man. There's only that indirect hinting; it's as if his feelings weren't important," he quipped through gasps. It was now or never, he had to know. "So, what does a man have to do…?" He put his hands on her breasts, stroking and squeezing them lightly.

He saw her eyes widen before she threw her head back and pushed her breasts more firmly into his hands. A long, shivering sigh escaped her while he treated her breasts to all the attention they deserved. Such pretty breasts and so responsive to his touch. A shudder went through her, and she sped up her movements. Lowering her head, she looked at him again earnestly. The look in her eyes was searching, and he wondered if he had misinterpreted her gesture, after all, and had gone too far. He looked back, as open and unguarded as he never had before.

"Perhaps he just needs to say it," she murmured. "It would be good enough for me."

The last part was said so softly that he almost didn't hear it. He had heard it, however, and knew that this was the moment. If he let it pass, there wouldn't be a second chance. If he used it, his old way of life would end. No more lonely brooding, no solitude, no self-loathing, no wallowing in the past. No more regrets, no more repentance, no more loneliness. If he used this moment, she'd be in his life, and he would do everything in his power to make her want to stay there for good. _You fool_, he thought. _What are you waiting for?_

"I love you, Hermione."

"Merlin, Severus!" She spasmed around him, but this time he was in control. After she came down from her peak, he gently turned both of them around and made love to her again, in the most traditional way, tenderly, passionately, until she screamed his name again and he hers.

"I take it that you won't be leaving me when the book is completed," she whispered while he held her in his arms, covering her face with kisses.

"There's another project waiting, you know. There's that pleasure room in my house; it needs to be examined thoroughly. Those velvet-lined handcuffs are giving me ideas…"

Hermione laughed. "That sounds intriguing. And after that, I'm sure we can find another project…"

"Absolutely. I'm clingy. You'll have to kick me out when you're tired of me."

"Not a chance, love," she murmured, thinking about how ill his love and loyalty had been rewarded in the past. "Your heart is safe with me." She lay her head on his chest and fell asleep.

Severus was a very happy man.

The End.

* * *

A/N: As a reference, I used 'The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana, translated by Sir Richard Burton (1883),' formatted at . It's in the public domain and can be downloaded at or , and probably several other places.


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